2. Onora
Chapter 2
Onora
Venatu, Human Realm, Nemus
D ryston lay under Onora, his verdant eyes gazing up at her with that signature intensity, his broad chest rising and falling heavily with each harried breath. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, her body coming flat against his, her curves meeting his hard planes.
“Beg,” she commanded.
He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “Make it quick, please.”
His words descended into a sobbing plea. She could grant his request, but she never did. No, this recurring dream was never for mercy.
It was only for vengeance.
She slit his throat, watching red burst and spill from the clean line, making streams in the cobbled floor below.
Heart racing, her eyes flung open to a darkness so pure that time and space lost all meaning. She felt suspended in the air, floating as if in water, stomach dipping and whirling as nausea clawed at her throat. The air tasted bitter like ash, and she gripped the bedsheets in an attempt to gain some sense of grounding.
She clamped her eyes shut, gritting her teeth and breathing out in heavy bursts through her nose. Magic poured out of her like a dam bursting. A buzz and a snap made her eyes open to arcs of light that splintered the absolute darkness.
Hello .
She shut that voice down and steadied her breath. One slow and deep one in, one long and ragged one out. Her room was a myriad of darks and lights, the shadows swirling around her in a funnel, her hair lifting up, the sheets rippling. She breathed in again, steadying the flow of magic in her, trying desperately to control it.
Since the well of magic opened in Evolis seven months ago, many humans had encountered similar problems. Random bursts of power and magic flowing through them, sometimes building up because they didn’t know how to release it fully, some catching their homes on fire or destroying the woodlands nearby. She’d been called back from her normal ranger duties in the west to help with the damage caused by the flare-ups.
The dream about Lord Dryston visited her almost every night, and afterward she always woke to a pitch-black room of shadows lit by arcs of lightning. As much as she hated waking up with vertigo, it was far better than the other dream that often frequented her instead.
“Are you okay?”
She shook her head, trying to erase that memory. Those words haunted her every step, a taunting phantom of night that she couldn’t cut loose in the daytime. If she could erase Dryston from her memory entirely, she would, but unfortunately, these shadows and the tattoos on her body were a constant reminder that the demons had done something to her. Something she couldn’t explain and could barely control.
As she pulled the shadows back, one brushed up against her face in a caress that made her snarl before it tucked behind her ear. She pulled the nightdress sleeves back to look at her arms. From wrist to shoulder on each side, spanning down her back and snaking around her hip, were swirls of black tattoos.
They were in the fashion and style she’d only ever seen on demons. It had happened right after Enid opened the well of magic. They had burst into her arms, searing her, making her skin sore and puckered red for weeks after.
She’d told no one. Being a Hunter and being marked by a demon was a bad combination. Best-case scenario, they would send her to the temples of the Holy Mother and cleanse her.
But they didn’t exist anymore.
No, Evoleen, the Holy Mother, was found to be a murdering psychopath and while some still clung to the ideas they’d had, refusing to believe the evidence in front of them, the Hunters had promptly stopped sending their demon-enthralled people to them.
There was no way to tell what others would do if they saw her new power—the very evidently demonic powers. In Evolis, she’d woken every morning with this. She’d chalked it up to her being a sink, someone who could draw and use power from other sources, and her being around three demons who cast shadows naturally.
But the demons were nowhere near her now, and she still woke in a sweat from her nightmares and a room full of darkness.
She swung her feet over the side of the bed.
The world tilted, and she ran to the restroom and vomited. Trembling, she stood and cleaned herself. Pulling on tactical leathers, she carefully placed daggers in the different holsters on her body, then attached her sword and bow before grabbing the small, packed bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
The chief had told them to dress as mercenaries or rangers for this mission—to leave the clearly identifiable marks of being a Hunter at home. They were to go to Orc Haven to observe only. Not to cause a turf war with the orcs and elves and demons in one blow.
The moon hung low in the sky, bright and taunting in the early morning hours. She’d always loved it growing up. Before her parents’ deaths, they had taught her the phases and ways of the moon and its power. They used it to predict weather and help with the growing season.
Now shadows popped out from behind her ears, running like a finger along her shoulders, and she had to yank them back in. Demonic powers came from the twin moon goddesses. She’d always thought it a folktale. But these shadows seemed desperate to dance in that light.
She had an apartment in the Hunter’s Guild, a small one room on the first floor, granting her more privacy than the newer recruits had in their rooms shared with three others. The buildings were all connected, and in the middle were training grounds and a garden that mostly housed vegetables and fruits, medicinal plants, and poisons. Onora enjoyed the flowers the gardener insisted kept bugs away. Ones that vined up the white fence greeted her, their flowers opening in the moonlight and closing up in the day. She ran a finger along its soft blue petal.
“Enjoying the garden?”
She turned at the voice and grinned. Jackson returned the smile and walked up to her, looking down at the flower.
“Moon Bloom,” he mumbled. “Your mother always had these outside your house.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, the vision clear as if it were that day. Jackson and her playing in the woods, getting lost until late at night, their parents and the rest of the villagers searching for them and sobbing thankfully when they were found. They went back to Onora’s small house and were fed stew, having gone hungry all day, and her mother took a flower bloom and placed it in her hair, calling her moon child.
Jackson knocked his elbow against hers. “I hope you’re ready to actually talk and spend time with the rest of us on this mission.” She gaped, and he threw his hands up. “You’ve been avoiding all of us since you returned, Ornery. It will be nice to actually spend some time with you.”
Concern peeked through his words, unable to hide behind his playful nickname for her, Ornery, and she drew in a deep breath and nodded. She’d been isolating—she was good at doing that when dealing with any internal turmoil. Jackson always saw and pulled her out, even when she wanted to curl up in it further. But she’d do anything for Jackson. He was her family. As were the other Hunters. Many of them had all come from some background of experiencing the Cruel Lord’s terror firsthand.
She walked beside Jackson to the stables, where the others were waiting for them already. Andrea stood from lacing her boots, her long black braids falling over her shoulder as she grinned, coming up and engulfing Onora in a hug. Onora washed down the wave of emotion that the simple display of care brought her. Andrea never expected Onora to talk about things she didn’t want to, or to get over things quickly—yet things never changed between them. Jackson and Andrea were like guiding stars in the night, never wavering, always bright.
Avery, an older Hunter, clapped her good-naturedly on the shoulder as he passed by, going to his horse and putting his pack on the saddle. “It’s been ages since we’ve had a mission together, Ornery.”
She rolled her eyes. Jackson used to be the only one to call her that. Over the years, others learned of it, and though she protested, it only stuck more.
“It will be good to have your expertise on this endeavor,” she said.
He raised a brow, smirking. “Did you rehearse that? I think this trip will do you good. You’ve spent too much time in the wilderness.”
An arm snaked around her shoulders, tugging her against a tall, slender body. “Well, I like my women a little wild, so I don’t mind. Don’t let Avery get you down.” She looked up to see Jin, the youngest of the group, standing next to her, shirtless.
She groaned and pushed him away, only to stop abruptly, her blood going cold. His skin was pink and angry, swirls of black lining his arms and chest, stopping at the base of his neck and wrists. Her heart hammered loud as a gong in her ears as he flexed to show off to the others.
“You finally did it,” Avery said, pulling back the sleeve of his shirt to show similar tattoos snaking up his arm.
Bile burned up Onora’s throat as she instinctively tugged her shirt down lower.
The tattoos mimicked the ones on the Lord of Shadows that came from an enchantment and made a specific set of swirls and patterns. It was a sign of great power and authority.
Hunters had started adopting the tattoos themselves, claiming it showed their own power and authority over the strongest demon of their race, the Lord of Shadows. It had always felt childish to Onora.
Now it terrified her.
In the past she’d seen the tattoos the artists did as similar to the ones that the demon lords had, but now that she herself had magically sealed demon tattoos, she could see the glaring difference. And if anyone saw hers, they would know. They would know that the demons had put their mark on her.
And then what?
There was no chance of cleansing at a temple now.
Only death.
Jin came back next to Onora, thrusting his arm in front of her face. “What do you think?”
She raised her brows. “Cute.”
Jin groaned. “Come on, Ornery, tell me they look nice or I won’t sleep well. I have to know the ladies think they make me look strong and capable.”
Onora made a humming sound, unconvinced, grinning. “I don’t think a few tattoos will help with that.”
Jin rolled his eyes, slumping and laying his head on her shoulder. “You wound me.”
She patted his head. “There, there.”
She smiled, missing this. It had been too long, and the way she slid so easily back into these dynamics was a comfort. She looked up and saw Andrea looking at her with relief, that edge of concern gone in light of Onora’s smiling face. And she smiled brighter at her friend, squashing down the rising emotion of love that threatened to overwhelm her at the concern.
This was her family, her people.
“I think they look—” Andrea stopped, head whipping to the door as it creaked open.
In walked Vincent and Vera, and behind them was Brayden, their commander.
And the one person Onora had been avoiding the most. She sighed, a smart remark on her tongue when Amherst, the commander of all the Hunters and her adoptive father, walked in, too. They all immediately stood at attention, and a slithering feeling of anxiety wound its way around her stomach. Amherst’s gaze landed on her with a soft smile that couldn’t abate her fear.
“Brayden and the twins will be accompanying you on the mission,” he said softly. Too softly. Too sympathetic. As if he knew the blow would hit and he wanted it to do less damage.
Which only made it worse.
She swallowed. “Sir, I don’t believe that’s necessary.”
Brayden walked to her, his hand brushing her elbow in a familiar and intimate way. Once upon a time, she’d welcomed that touch, thrilled at it, desperately wanted it more than anything. Now it took everything in her not to slap it away.
He pursed his lips. “This will give Vincent and Vera more experience. They have a lot they can learn from you.”
“Okay, they can come then. We hardly need two lieutenants to go.”
Brayden cast a glance at Amherst, both of them exchanging a knowing look that made her blood boil. Amherst jerked his head to the side, and she followed him outside the stable. He placed heavy hands on her shoulders, giving her the fatherly look that she’d become accustomed to.
“I know you and Brayden have a history?—”
“It’s not that,” she hissed, and Amherst’s expression changed to the stern fatherly look that made her swallow the next words on her tongue.
It was partially that. Amherst didn’t know what she’d gone through with Brayden. She and Brayden had always been in competition with each other for the top spot at the Hunter’s Guild. If she complained about him coming along, then Brayden would say it was favoritism. She would never be able to earn her place here on her own merit if she told Amherst about their history.
“You’re going to observe Lord Dryston and find out why he hasn’t left Nemus yet. You and Lord Dryston traveled together for a while, and I just think it would be good to have someone with you who can remind you of what human love feels like.”
She clenched her jaw, holding her tongue.
This again. Amherst had sent her to help King Leeth of the elves on his mission to find the lost city of Evolis. On that mission were Lord Dryston and his siblings. She’d been cordial and professional, not fighting any of them and even working with them.
Upon her return, Amherst and Brayden had interrogated her about what she’d seen and experienced with the demons, expecting some terrible tales of their evil.
All she’d been able to say was that Dryston was arrogant and controlling and annoying. Kaemon and Enid had been easy to work with—people she would trust to have her back in a fight. They chalked that up to her being put under his thrall—a magical spell done by demons, usually on humans, to make them do as they commanded, claiming love and desire against their own wishes.
“Are you okay?”
She shoved that memory far, far away and swallowed. “I’m not under a thrall, commander.”
He rubbed her shoulders soothingly, a pitying look in his eyes that made her feel rage and shame in the same measure. “I know you aren’t. We all know you aren’t.” A lie. “I just think he may try to pull you under one, and I don’t think it’s bad to have an old paramour nearby to remember. You and Brayden were always so good together.”
Amherst had no idea. He—and many others—had blamed Onora for the breakup.
“Fine,” she said. “He’s not needed, but I can be professional. If it’s what you command, sir.”
He nodded. “It is.”